My Word
by Adrian Tullberg
Summary: Revamping an old story (Alternative Strategy) for the MCU.


By Adrian Tullberg

* * *

Revamping an old story (Alternative Strategy) for the MCU.

* * *

Defense Secretary Ross marched through the Lobby Entrance, entering the White House proper, seething all the while.

'Captain' Stephen Rogers. The one man he'd thought would get with the programme. He'd gone to the trouble of personally going to Upstate New York and explained the Accords, and their importance. Instead, of snapping to attention and saluting like any soldier under any command should do, he'd left in a huff.

Maybe he'd been in a suit instead of a uniform for too long, because his staff at the White House had called him in a near panic telling with the news that Rodgers was there requesting an immediate audience with President Ellis.

Of course Rodgers would try and flank him. After all, he was a Living Legend, in every conceivable definition. You couldn't get the Secret Service to detain Captain America because they were all vying to get selfies with him.

Even if you ignored Rodgers' actions in World War Two, which culminated in saving the East Coast from carpet bombing, he'd been instrumental in saving the world. Twice. Saving the world from domination via orbital sniper, which also meant, due to the leaked SHIELD records, President Ellis personally owed Rodgers his life. So if Captain America wanted face time with the President, he would get face time with the President. Right now, the Australian Ambassador was being entertained by the First Lady, unsure why his meeting on Pacific Military Exercises was being delayed.

As Ross entered the Secretary's Office, he calmed himself. Let Rodgers whine to the President. Let him get shot down. Then he could get to work.

Realisitically, what hope did Rodgers have? Both Houses were behind the Accords, despite them being a UN invention. All thanks to Romanov's public bragging to Congress that she, and the others were too goddamn important for any repercussions for publicly castrating a major intelligence service. Rodgers himself had helped, by virtually ignoring the media ever since his resurrection, and throwing himself into the battlefield, either as Fury's dog, or leading the Avengers. The rest of the world was terrified of the potential of superhumans, which the US currently held a monopoly.

Not to mention Stark. Ross had no idea what happened After New York, but whatever had turned the rock star primadonna into someone desperate to get everyone into line? Well, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Getting the UN to push forward the Accords that would virtually immobilize the Avengers was best; after all the UN would ultimately take the brunt if anything went wrong with this new 'accountability' measure.

In the meantime, Ross could resurrect the Super Soldier Programme. Create some new superhumans that the Accords didn't cover because they didn't exist yet. Now that Rodgers was here, and alive, his researchers could get serious about replicating Erskine's work. The SSR had taken as much blood as they could, but muscle tissue, bone marrow and brain biopsies weren't exactly common procedures then, were they?

Maybe Stark could stop being so precious about his technology; the idea of ten – twenty – of those 'Veronicas' being sicced on Banner appealed. He wanted to be the first face Banner saw when he shrunk down, to find himself strapped to a table in the deep dark hole he'd promised in New York.

An aide opened the door, and Ross entered, directly heading for the President. And Rodgers was there, wearing a two piece.

Ross had spent a lot longer in this new uniform, this new warfare than Rodgers had. Let him try.

* * *

Ellis noted that the old war dog made a point of ignoring Rodgers as he sat down opposite.

"We'd hoped you'd be on board, Captain."

"Sir, let me be frank. I've always stood behind taking any discipline for any actions made, and encouraged those who serve under, and with me to adopt those principles. These Accords serve no practical purpose, rather than slowing us down for no other reason than appearances. We need our autonomy."

Ellis glanced at Ross, who was rolling his eyes, before addressing Rodgers.

"Captain. While nobody else recognizes, and appreciates your services, past and present, more than me, the people, at whose pleasure we serve, are not so tolerant about seeking forgiveness rather than permission."

Rodgers didn't react. "Sir, are you saying that political pressure is more direct than the need for a viable, direct response to threats?"

"Maybe the political pressure is there because you are perceived as a threat."

Ellis gave Ross a split-second glare before turning back to Rodgers. "I wouldn't have put the situation quite as bluntly as Secretary Ross …"

"Well, I understand sir. We must adapt to emerging situations as they occur."

"I'm glad you see…"

"… which is why I'm here to offer my word."

"Your agreement on the Accords-"

"-my word, sir, that if the Accords are … shall we say … less than diligently enforced?" Rodgers gave a slight grin. "-I promise not to publicly endorse any of the current candidates running for presidential nomination."

Ellis' eyes widened.

While everyone was ruminating about what Rodgers was physically capable of, what seemed to be ignored, apart from a few Political Science graduates, was 'Captain America' started as a public relations exercise. Nearly a year of coaching by old Vaudeville pros. Nearly a year of performances around the country, selling a war to isolationists and the Irish as well as bonds.

Nearly a year of good old fashioned speeches and kissing babies. Given the mood of the country during these primaries, 'good old fashioned' would fit the bill perfectly. Hand over the modern campaigning to some young kids who would jump at the chance to say they'd campaigned for Captain America himself.

Then Rodgers started really saving the world. After his death, the myth making had really ramped up, with documentaries and TV series and two Spielberg movies. Ellis realized he was looking at the culmination of seventy years of positive propaganda which had yet to be cashed.

Then there was the triumphant resurrection and continual saving the world. To go against Rodgers' service would be going against America's entire military doctrine. Even this current downturn in his perception wouldn't really affect him; after all, Oliver North had plenty of supporters.

"Your word, Captain?"

Judging from the expression of Ross, there was nothing in the Accords to stop enhanced humans doing anything they wanted outside superhuman activities. And Rodgers service in the U.S. Army had finished long ago; Fury had made sure of that when he recruited Rodgers into SHIELD before Rodgers had brought SHIELD down in a superb piece of irony. No chance of throwing the UCMJ at him.

No need for promising an ambassadorship, a cabinet position. Just let Rodgers continue what he was doing, and he could virtually win the nomination, even the election.

For any candidate, even at this late stage-

"-especially one Donald Trump."

Ellis swallowed.

"Thank you, Captain …" Ellis got up, his secretary entering the Oval Office thanks to Ellis' summons. "Gail, get the Secretary General of the UN … the Majority and Minority Leaders of both houses … the Presidents of the European Commission, Council and Parliament … the Australian Ambassador's still here…?"

Ross darted off in pursuit, shooting Rodgers a glance before following the President.

"Touche, Rogers."

Rodgers turned, to see the son of a good friend, now uncertain ally who should really be seeking help from suitably trained professional mental health specialists rather than going it alone and boring Banner to death.

"I learned from the best, Mr. Stark."

Stark smiled, parking his rear on the desk. "Fury? Nat? Dare I say ... me?"

Rodgers wondered if having Stark plant his rear there was the worse indignity the Resolute had suffered. "Game of Thrones."

Stark smiled in the salacious way only he could manage. "You watched naked bits on HBO?" Stark leaned in closer. "While wearing your uniform?"

"Barton gave me the books as an apartment warming gift."

The smile vanished, to be replaced by confusion. "...there's books?"

Next order of business; finding Stark some qualified help. "Yeah ..."


End file.
